


Shelter

by Nospheratt



Series: Thousand Voices [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkward Flirting, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Panic Attacks, Past homelessness - mentioned, Rain, Shrunkyclunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nospheratt/pseuds/Nospheratt
Summary: “Oh, no,” Bucky found himself saying. “No taking it back now. Tell me more about how gorgeous I am.” He wiggled his brows and Steve laughed, low and warm.“You’re trouble, aren’t you.” Steve smiled, shy now, bit his lip. He was gorgeous, all flustered and sincere.Feeling more himself than he had in a good long while, Bucky arched a brow. “Depends, you looking for any?”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Thousand Voices [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106765
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [powercrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/powercrow/gifts).



“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Bucky muttered, clasping his own forearms and hunching his shoulders. “Keep walking. It’s just rain.”

Thunder exploded above him, and he flinched, feeling very much _not okay_. The cold, the weight of the water dragging his clothes, the furious rain pouring over his face and blurring his vision…it all unearthed memories of trying to sleep in a cardboard box, under the storm. No refuge from the rain, because he’d been kicked—literally kicked and punched and shoved—from under the bridge.

No place to go. No shelter, no food. No one. Nothing.

“You’re…o…okay.” He didn’t know if his teeth were chattering due to the cold or the panic. 

_Probably panic_ , the dim remains of his logical mind supplied, since it was still summer.

Summer.

Where was he?

Bucky stopped and took a look around. Tried to take a deep breath, choked on a sob.

Some sort of secondary road, surrounded by tall trees on both sides. Fog and rain severely limited his visibility. He had no idea of where he was. How he got there.

The trees loomed menacingly over him. The fog swallowed the road a few steps ahead. He was cold. So cold.

“K—keep. Going. Just. A few more…steps.” Those words had saved him before. Had kept him alive. Fighting to see another day. 

One foot in front of the other. Just one more step. One more, he lied to himself.

Bucky lied and knew it was a lie. He believed it, because it was all he had.

Every step took him closer to the fog, but the fog retreated, giving way as he approached. Was it better or worse? If he’d been asked to choose, he didn’t know if he’d rather be swallowed by it or have it waiting ominously right ahead.

Shuddering, he scrunched his eyes closed for a moment. Water dripped down his face, pooled in his lips before falling down.

Another crack of thunder as the wind picked up, whipping his long hair on his face, rain now cutting his skin, blinding him. Shuddering, he fought the rising urge to drop to the floor, curl into a ball and cry.

No. _Keep going._

“P—panic attack. Just. Panic.” He heaved a choked breath. Another step. “Okay. You’re—okay.”

A side road opened suddenly between the trees, a gaping maw made of dirt and gravel. About a hundred meters ahead, to the side of the road, a little shed.

 _Shelter_.

Bucky’s legs were running before his brain could process anything else.

Built with logs and stone, it looked old, very old. Weather had peeled the white paint from the window and the door, a few blobs clinging pitifully under the rain’s onslaught. As he approached, he could see spiderwebs adorning the inside of the window panes, multiple cracks on the door.

The heavy, _open_ door, slightly ajar, unmoved by the strong winds.

Bucky threw himself against it. The door offered a token resistance, dragging on the floor before allowing him inside.

Trembling, he quickly scanned the interior of the shed. It was hard to see any details in the penumbra, but everything seemed dirty, covered in dust and rust, colonized by spiders and who knew what else.

Bucky did not care. He'd sheltered in worse places. The leaks in the roof were all clustered in the right side of the shed, allowing him to huddle on the floor in a dry place, back protected by a solid wall. 

He hugged his knees to his chest, rested his forehead on them, and finally broke down.

Huge sobs wracked his body as tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rain soaking his pants. Every thunderclap was a new injection of fear in his veins, no matter how much he told himself over and over it was just rain.

“Hey, are you alright?” a deep voice asked, strong enough to be heard over the raging storm.

 _No, no, no, no_. Bucky’s stomach clenched in fear. Someone had found him. He was going to be kicked out into the rain. He covered his head with his arms and pleaded, “Please—please let me stay. I’ll go as soon as the rain stops.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” the man said, much closer now. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Bucky told his knees, worried it was a ruse to make him uncurl and turn into an easier target. “I won’t bother you, I swear.”

“No bother at all.” The words sounded genuine, and Bucky swallowed the sound of them with a sob of relief. “I’m Steve. Can you tell me your name?”

“Bucky.” He lowered his arms to hug his knees again but kept his head resting against them, eyes closed.

“Hi, Bucky. You’re safe, okay?”

Once again, thunder exploded all around them, making even the glass panes tremble and whine. Bucky flinched and curled tighter on himself, his entire body shaking.

“Bucky, it’s okay, I promise.” The voice was suddenly closer, right in front of Bucky. The man—Steve—must be crouching. “My house is a couple hundred meters from here. Would you like to go there, change into some dry clothes?”

Bucky’s stomach turned at the thought of stepping back into the storm. He shook his head slightly. “Please don’t make me go out there,” he whispered.

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.” Steve sighed. “I just want to help.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that.

“Is it okay if I sit here with you?” Steve asked.

Why would he ask something like that? Bucky shrugged. “Your shed,” he mumbled to his pants.

“Yeah,” Steve said as he dragged something away from Bucky. “It came with the property.” A pause. “I should have fixed it already, but it keeps slipping my mind. I’m sorry.”

That finally made Bucky look up, frowning. “What for?”

Even as he asked, he was completely astonished by Steve’s beauty—what Bucky could divine in the semi-darkness anyway. He was sitting on the floor, near Bucky, his big, muscular body relaxed against the wall. Legs folded up, open, arms resting over his bent knees. The sharp lines of his face blurred but still there, a hint of stubbornness to his jaw, blond hair plastered to his forehead by the rain, already rebelling and starting to stick up.

There was something familiar about him. Bucky couldn’t pinpoint what.

“If I had fixed it already, you’d be more comfortable now,” Steve said.

To his own surprise, Bucky snorted, shaking his head, chest bright with something foreign and warm. “If you had fixed it, the door would be locked and I’d be still having this panic attack out in the rain.”

“Maybe then instead of stopping here you’d have found my house. Where I have dry clothes and water,” Steve countered, chin going up, stubbornness in full display now.

“Guess we’ll never know.” Bucky was suddenly very tired. The storm was dying down little by little, thunder rolling away, taking his panic with it as the pouring rain gentled. Leaving him empty and exhausted. “I need to figure out how to get back home.”

“Do you need a ride? I can drive you,” Steve offered, and then tilted his head. “How did you get here? I’m pretty far from the main roads.”

Shame warmed Bucky’s cheeks. “I don’t know.” He hid his face near his knees again. “I think…I think I went hiking this morning. And I…I guess I got lost.”

“This morning?” Steve’s eyebrows went up. “It’s near sunset already, Buck.”

A hysterical laugh-sob bubbled up from Bucky’s chest. “Great. Whatever, I’ve lost a few hours of my life to a panic attack. No big deal. Not the first time, and probably not the last, either.”

“PTSD?” No judgment, no pity. Bucky half-shrugged, half-nodded, and Steve’s eyes softened. “Losing time sucks.”

The self-deprecating tone finally allowed all the pieces to click together. His eyes widened slightly. “You’re Captain America, aren’t you.”

A shadow, darker even than the shed’s penumbra, passed over Steve’s face. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” What else could he say?

“I’m not.” Steve’s smile was ferocious, the savage showing of teeth of a victorious warrior. It made Bucky think of vikings. “I’m _done_ with running around getting shot by aliens and punched by gods. I’d much rather rescue gorgeous men who’re hiding in my shed from the storm,” he finished with a grin.

“Gorgeous?” Bucky echoed, dumbfounded.

“Uh.” Steve seemed to blush—Bucky wished he could see it clearly—and rubbed the back of his neck, grin turned sheepish. “Yes? Sorry, I don’t know how to f—” He sighed, scrunched his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. “Nevermind.”

“Oh, no,” Bucky found himself saying. “No taking it back now. Tell me more about how gorgeous I am.” He wiggled his brows and Steve laughed, low and warm.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you.” Steve smiled, shy now, bit his lip. He was gorgeous, all flustered and sincere.

Feeling more himself than he had in a good long while, Bucky arched a brow. “Depends, you looking for any?”

Steve’s laugh reverberated again and oh, Bucky wanted to make him laugh every hour of every day. To hear that happy, rusty sound every day.

“I’ll tell you all about my life-long search for trouble, if you come to my house.”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh. “Gods, that must be the worst come-on I’ve ever received.”

“It wasn’t—” Cheeks darkening, Steve shook his head, chuckling. “Are you coming or not?”

Bucky bit back the letters that spilled from his mind to spell _I hope so_. He wasn’t going to say it. 

Not yet, at least. 

Taking a deep breath, he looked up, turning his attention to the rain. Gentle drops clinked and twinkled over the metal roof, the noise soft and almost soothing. He nodded, more to himself than anything. “I think I can go out, yes.”

Steve stood up in a fluid, graceful moment, and offered Bucky a hand, helped him up. Solid, warm, Steve’s giant hand enveloped Bucky’s fingers entirely, and Bucky didn’t want to examine very closely why it was so reassuring. Why did the simple contact rumble all over his skin in a pleasant shiver.

“Ready?” Steve asked, still clasping Bucky’s hand. Up close, Bucky could see Steve’s blue eyes, his patient, gentle smile.

Smiling back, Bucky nodded.

Side by side, fingers twined, they crossed the old door and stepped together into the summer rain.

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably get a sequel at some point. Steve taking care of Bucky, lending him dry clothes after he takes a shower... More awkward flirting… Then he takes Bucky home and of course he needs to go back for the clothes…
> 
> And of course it’s a too big sweater that Bucky finds himself wearing even after for no good reason...
> 
> And of course Bucky “forgets” to give the sweater back, and Steve “doesn’t notice” and is not secretly pleased, no sir. Nope. 😁
> 
> All my thanks to [powercrow](https://twitter.com/powercrow1/status/1347779024974536704) for the lovely rainy prompt. 💜🧡💜
> 
> * * *
> 
> Cover image by [Alex Russell-Saw](https://unsplash.com/@alexrussellsaw).
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Nospheratt).


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